


My Real Name

by PearlTopaz



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Drugs Raid, Explosions, Implied Child Abuse, Jail, One Shot, minor flashback
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 20:35:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10047881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PearlTopaz/pseuds/PearlTopaz
Summary: One-shot. AU where none of the TV show happened, just Sherlock living his normal life but no John or Mary or Moriarty or anyone like that.After a drugs bust, Sherlock is temporarily in a jail cell. Who knows what he'll get up to?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is a really crappy story. I'm sorry in advance. I wrote it at like 1 AM and there was no beta reader or anything, so... yeah. I probably didn't explain some things enough, explained others too much, over complicated some things, oversimplified others, etc. I thought I'd just post it and see what happens. Please correct anything wrong in the comments, whether it's a technical error, an explanation one, or a facts one.

Sherlock smirked, feeling pair after pair of cold metal handcuffs fastened around his wrists. It was flattering, really.

"Graham," he began, "Are twelve pairs really necessary? Truly? I mean, you know I would never even consider running away from London's best. I wouldn't dream of trying."

Lestrade turned the key on the last pair, grabbing Sherlock's shoulders. "You little bastard. You know I'd rather have more, but my supervisor didn't believe me when I said I needed twenty."

Sherlock could hear the grin in Lestrade's voice. "George, look. Let's stop the pleasantries. You are perfectly aware that I can as easily escape from twelve handcuffs as I could one. Or twenty, for that matter." He added thoughtfully. "Anyhow, this is absurd. You can't possibly hope to hold me here. Even if I was truly in possession of drugs, as you know I'm not"- Lestrade muttered oh, really?- "Even if I was, Mycroft can and undoubtedly will get me out within the hour." 

Lestrade smiled gleefully. "Now that, Sherlock, is where you're- I can't believe I'm saying this- wrong. Mycroft won't bail you out or pull any strings. You're stuck until we release you or until we decide to jail you, in which case he'll do something, but you and I both know this will be a few days at least." 

Sherlock frowned, irritated. "But you'll have the results in from the analysis of whatever you found in my pantry by tomorrow. Why a few days?"

"I'm sure you're aware, since the great Sherlock Holmes never misses anything, we plan to search your flat non-stop for the next four days, mate. Just to be certain we got everything, y'know."

Sherlock could have gritted his teeth. He should have known Lestrade and Mycroft were up to something. Normally, Lestrade barely bothered with one set of handcuffs, knowing he'd simply have to take them off almost immediately. This meant permanency, actual effort was going into this particular arrest. 

Siblings were the worst. Mycroft had no right to meddle in his life! He must have arranged the drugs bust, too. Of course, Sherlock had known something like this would happen eventually. Such a long search would doubtlessly find all his normal hiding places. So Sherlock had arranged a system with his dealer. He had no drugs on him at all. The flat was clean. For once.

Lestrade was speaking again. "Sherlock, I'm sure you know your rights, but y'know, laws." He began reciting his rights, etc, etc, etc. Simply to alleviate some boredom, Sherlock began reciting them in sync with him. But when Lestrade stopped, Sherlock kept going, with his own personal set of 'rights' that he had written himself. They were missing the obvious loopholes in the original ones. Much more foolproof. He was rather proud of them.

The police car seemed to have stopped. Lestrade stepped out, leading Sherlock to the police station. As they stepped inside, Sherlock wrinkled his nose. The scent of coffee and sweat lingered in the air- not a pleasant combination. In fact, the station downright stunk. Had it always smelled this way? He wouldn't really know. He had always just waited outside for Mycroft to pick him up in a limousine of some sort.

They were in a cell now. Lestrade left Sherlock with the handcuffs on, saying as he left "If you're really determined, I'm sure you'll find a way out. Might entertain you for a bit, anyway. " 

Sherlock wasn't sure whether to be glad or annoyed. He settled on glad. Until this infernal drugs bust was concluded and the idiots had managed to deduce that the white powder was nothing more than flour, he was stuck here. Might as well- how did Mummy always put it?- make the best of things. 

Sherlock had some fun taking the handcuffs off. Then he inspected the room he was in.

It was small, made to feel smaller with badly painted walls, odd proportions, a hard cot taking up at least a third of it, a rusty toilet, a sink with a mirror, and a grim metal door. He mentally listed the safety hazards in the room- Lestrade would want to know. The list became rather long, so Sherlock gave up.

He took the handcuffs and pulled them apart. Now what? He knew there was a way to- ah, yes. He interlocked the metal just right and- perfect! He had made a little sculpture- a lightning bolt. His favorite thing about it was the fact that it was also capable of attaching to batteries and really being able to shock you. He could have some fun with this.

According to his mind-clock, it was around six thirty. He would likely receive dinner soon. He doubted that anything would be edible, but reactive? That was another story entirely. A nice explosion would be just the thing.

Sherlock smiled as he received the tray of food. He wasn't hungry, but the chemistry here was astonishing! He was almost done. He just needed to trigger the explosion. He almost did it then and there, but paused. His mind-clock read four am. That was too early for an explosion. He had better wait till morning.

Unable to sleep on the bed, Sherlock curled into a tight ball under the cot and slept.

In the morning, he was glad he hadn't tried last night. He'd failed to notice the vinegar on the salad, which could definitely add to the explosion. He quickly mixed the vinegar-lettuce mixture into his medley of ingredients. This was going to be amazing!

Sherlock ran hot water over the metal lightning bolt, heating it as much as possible. The hotter it was, the bigger the boom!  
As he felt it getting to just the right temperature, Lestrade entered the room. Sherlock knew it was a bad idea, but the opportunity was too great to pass up. He turned around, sticking the hot metal straight into the makeshift explosive. A slight hiss, then...

BOOM! The explosion was far more intense than Sherlock had predicted, covering himself as well as the Detective Inspector in lettuce, spinach, sourdough bread, tomatoes, saltwater (mixed himself), and other unidentifiable things that Sherlock had honestly just stuck in and hoped for the best. Apparently the best was quite a lot.

Sherlock practically squealed in excitement. That had been amazing! Perhaps this jail thing wasn't so bad, after all, they had given him everything he needed for a lovely bomb!

Lestrade's expression was a comical mix of shock, anger, and amazement. He seemed frozen in place.

Just as Sherlock was about to shake him or something, he recovered. "Sherlock!" He yelled, fuming. "You utter twat! You can't just go around exploding things! I can't even believe- I was coming to tell you that what we found was just flour, and you- you- you covered me in salad!"

Sherlock was surprised, to be honest. He had expected a much smaller reaction all around- a smaller explosion, a smaller mess, and a smaller telling-off. Lestrade looked furious. What's more, he looked ridiculous. Between the lettuce hanging off his ear, the bread pieces spotting his uniform, and the tomato pulp covering his normally genial face, he looked like a clown who'd gone a little nuts during dinner. Sherlock unconsciously shrank away from him.

Memories of painful slaps and harsh words filled his head. He backed up even further, hitting the wall with his back.

Lestrade abruptly stopped yelling. "Sherlock, what's wrong, mate?" Sherlock didn't- couldn't- respond. He was shaking with fear.

Lestrade smacked himself in the forehead. "Oh, Sherlock, I'm bloody sorry. I forgot- you know this is still new to me! I didn't mean to trigger you or scare you or anything." He slowly approached Sherlock, hands up like approaching a wounded animal.

He rubbed Sherlock's back until he calmed down.

Realizing what was happening, Sherlock pulled away quickly. "I- I apologize for my behavior. I can generally manage it. I, I'm sorry."

Lestrade smiled sadly. "Sherlock, you idiot. You never have to apologize for that. Never."

Grateful, Sherlock smiled, then pulled himself together. "Geronimo, I also apologize for the explosion. While intentional, I was unaware it would cause such a large outward spread of food. I'll clean it up."

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you will. But the cocaine we found- it was just flour. And after that demonstration, I don't care if Mycroft wants to teach you a lesson. We can't deal with you for another day. Congrats, mate, you're going home."

Sherlock sighed in relief. "Thank you, Greg. I really appreciate it."

As Lestrade brought Sherlock outside to wait for a ride, a question occurred to him.

"Did you just call me by my real name?"

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment! I really, really would appreciate constructive criticism on this one since I feel like it probably needs some editing but I don't know where.


End file.
